


i'm still a fighter (but now i'm ten times lighter)

by allapplesfall



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Also a Bit of Trauma But They're Working Through It, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone is a Fucking Dork, Fluff, Food Issues, I Can't Even Call It Flirting It's Just...Garak, Jewish Kira Nerys, Multi, Some Ragging on Spanish Class (I'm Sorry Maestra Daniela), a lot of teasing, if you look up disaster lesbian in the encyclopedia a picture of a flustered kira nerys appears, while her girlfriend laughs down at her from the disaster bi entry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-03 01:06:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10956495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allapplesfall/pseuds/allapplesfall
Summary: Jadzia loved spending time with them. They passed lazy days sprawled on the floor, or quiet days doing homework at the table. Some afternoons, Ben kept them out playing baseball until the sun dimmed and their faces were warm with sweat. She always came away with her sides aching, her cheeks half-bruised from smiling. At Ben's place, they ribbed each other over so much Louisianan food that it was a surprise they hadn't burst.There were bad days too, of course, when Kira's nails dug into her own palms, her eyes seeing something that wasn't there, and all she wanted to do was fight, bleed, run away; or when Ben didn't get out of bed, angry or despondent or miserable; or when Jadzia felt too old for her body, like she was never meant to be that young. But those days were largely outnumbered, and didn't mean much anyway.A collection of snapshots from a teenage au.





	1. september - jadzia + kira + ben

“I hate this.” 

“I know you do,” Jadzia said, brushing a strand of her hair back behind her ear. The three of them were sitting in Ben’s living room, in the apartment above his dad’s restaurant. They each had schoolbooks out in front of them, pencils and spare scraps of paper laying sprawled across the small round tabletop. Each passing minute made it harder for Jadzia to focus; the smell of cooking seafood kept drifting in through the open window, bringing with it tempting waves of summer heat.

“They don’t make _sense_.”

Ben slowly raised his eyes from his own textbook. “As you’ve told us. Many, many times.”

Kira’s brow furrowed, and she stared down at the scratched table. Jadzia elbowed Ben, who sighed.

“Sorry,” he said.

“I’m not dumb,” Kira muttered. “I’m _not_.”

Jadzia put a hand on her back. She hated the way Kira’s face twisted, like she needed to convince herself rather than either of the other two. “We know.” 

“The letters just _don’t make sense_.”

“Try again,” Jadzia counseled. She pointed to the word ‘soccer’. “What’s this word?” 

Kira glared down at it. “Ess. Ess-oh-xer?” 

“S doesn’t make an “ess” sound in the word, remember?” 

“S-oh-xer?”

“You play it all the time,” said Ben. He’d dropped his pencil and was leaning over to read upside down. “Gave Miles a bloody knee.”

“Soccer?”

“Yeah!” Jadzia cheered.

“But I thought two c’s made an ex sound? Like success.”

Jadzia shrugged. “What do we say?”

Kira groaned. “English sucks,” she said, repeating what’d become their mantra. She put her head in her hands.

“That’s the spirit.” 

“Let’s go downstairs,” Ben said. He flipped his textbook closed—Jadzia thought he’d probably been waiting for a chance to abandon it since their study session began. Ben might have been a lot of things, but a statistician wasn’t one of them. “I’m done studying. Dad’ll probably have some extra jambalaya that he can slip us.”

“Benjamin,” Jadzia chided, enjoying the way his jaw tensed in exasperation, “what kind of example are you setting? Especially with such young minds present.”

To the surprise of no one, least of all Jadzia, it was only an instant before Kira punched her arm. “I’m fifteen,” she growled. “ _Fif-fucking-teen_.”

“Ah yes, the days of such youth and innocence…”

Kira pushed her harder, two handed. Jadzia, sixteen years of all gangly limbs, nearly toppled off her chair. There was a moment when pure panic flitted across Kira’s face, terrified she’d hurt her, but then all four legs of the chair hit hardwood again and Jadzia burst out laughing. Ben grinned. Kira tried to hide her smile with a pout, to little avail.

“Asshole,” she grumbled.

Jadzia made a _tsk_ sound with her lips and her teeth. “Now, now, child. Respect your–”

This time, Kira stood and pulled Jadzia out of the chair, yanking on her neck until she had her in a headlock. With her free hand, she mercilessly tickled Jadzia’s sides until her laughter turned into gasps. “Nerys,” she pleaded, “I give, I give.”

Victorious, Kira started to loosen her grip, but then Jadzia flipped the situation—she pinned her to the floor, attacking her neck with glee. It was Kira’s turn to shriek, to writhe on the carpet with giggles stopping up her lungs. Her face flushed and her eyes watered, but her cheeks were split into a grin. 

Jadzia wouldn’t tell her, but it was one of the few times she’d seen the girl actually look her age. 

(Jadzia wouldn’t tell her, but it was really cute.)

“If you’re done,” Ben said, amused, watching them from where he was still sitting in his chair. He’d turned around to straddle it, his arms resting along the back. “I was serious about that jambalaya.”

Jadzia rolled off of Kira, the two of them belly-up to the ceiling. There was a pause as they both caught their breath. “Benjamin,” Jadzia finally replied, “I love your dad’s cooking, but I think I’m two-thirds shrimp by now.”

Ben grinned, clapping his hands together. “Still a third left, Old Man.” Swinging his legs off his chair and standing, he added, “Besides, do you really want to stay, and finish your…” 

“Biochem.” 

“Your biochem homework? Rather than eat a Sisko specialty?”

Jadzia turned her head to look at Nerys. The girl’s cheeks were puffed—she was slowly letting out air, like a balloon with a tiny hole. When she noticed Jadzia was watching, she quickly deflated. Her skin flushed pink again. Despite clear attempts to keep her expression even, at Jadzia’s grin, her mouth curled up in a smile.

“What do you think?” Jadzia asked. 

Kira raised her eyebrows. “I’ve never said no to food in my life.” 

“I guess we’re going, then.” Jadzia stuck her hands up into the air. “Bennnnnnn…”

“It _astounds_ me—”

“Nice SAT word,” Kira remarked.

Ben continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. “It _astounds_ me that, between the two of you _extremely_ capable young women, neither of you have the core strength to sit up.” 

Jadzia grinned like a cat with cream. “Oh, we do.”

Kira tugged up her ratty baseball tee, an old one of Ben’s, to reveal a well-defined six-pack. “See?” she said. “Shredded.”

Mouth suddenly dry, Jadzia tore her eyes away from Kira’s midriff. She waggled her hands at Ben. “We just want you to help us up anyway.”

Ben heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t know why I do this,” he complained. He grabbed one of each of their arms, and yanked them up. “I have other friends.”

“Ooooh, like _Jennifer_ ,” Jadzia teased, slinging her arm around his shoulder.

Kira grinned. “ _Jennifer_ ,” she added, “would you, would you want to come to my baseball game? It’s Saturday.” 

“There’ll be other people there,” Jadzia cut in, “you don’t have to worry about being bored…” 

“We could buy milkshakes after, even,” said Kira, delightfully dry.

“Oh, _Jennifer_ —”

Ben growled, shoving them both ahead of him and shutting the door behind him.

 

- 

 

“Heyyy, it’s my two favorite girls!” Ben’s father exclaimed, turning away from his stove. “Come down for a break after all that studying?” 

“Yes sir, Mr. Sisko,” Kira replied.

“Miss Kira,” Mr. Sisko said, ruffling his hand through her short hair, “we do need to do something about that ‘Mr. Sisko’ of yours. Ain’t no friend of my son’s gonna call me ‘sir’ unless I want them to. And I _don’t_ want you to.”

“Yes sir.”

Mr. Sisko grinned. “How’s that reading of yours coming?”

Kira’s lips pursed. “Great,” she said, an edge to her voice. “Soon I’ll be able to read _See Spot Run_ with the best of them.”

Mr. Sisko gripped her shoulder sympathetically. He was one of the only adults who Kira allowed to touch her, and he knew it. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, huh? You’re trying to learn how to read a whole new language. It’s only been a few months.”

“Thanks, Mr. Sisko.” Kira tried for a smile, though her posture was still stiff. 

“Anyway, at least English has vowels. That must be nice. Let me get you set up with some jambalaya, huh?” Before he turned back to his pot, he clapped Jadzia on the shoulder. “How’re you, kiddo?”

Jadzia beamed at him. “Great, sir.”

He waggled his spoon at her. “No.” 

“Great, Joseph,” she amended.

“There we go. I won’t have a girl who I’ve known since she was knee-high comin’ at me and calling me _sir_ , for Chrissakes.”

Ben, who’d been watching his father interact with his friends with mild impatience, raised his hand. “Sir?” he asked. “Can I have some, too?”

Mr. Sisko shook his head. “Good lord,” he said to Kira, “see what you’ve inspired in these delinquents?”

She ducked her head and tried to hide a smile.

“Three rounds of jambalaya,” Mr. Sisko said. “Coming right up. Say, Ben, you all done with them maths?”

Ben sighed. “Not yet, Dad.”

“Boy should know his math.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you use it a lot, frying up portabella mushrooms.” 

Mr. Sisko turned, his face creased in exasperation. “Yeah, Ben, I do. I’m a small-business owner—who did you think runs the taxes on this shack?” 

“ _Dad_.” 

“Jesus, I’m not saying cure cancer or anything. Just be finishing your homework. I betcha Jadzia’s finished her math homework, huh?” 

Jadzia looked down. She didn’t like when people did that; when people tried to hold her up on a pedestal of academic success, just because she was taking a few advanced courses. As much as she liked Ben’s dad, it sounded too much like he was saying she was _smarter_ than her friends. That was an idea that made her stomach twist.

Ben knew it, too. “Dad,” he said, “can we talk about this later?”

“Yeah, sure. Rice is done anyhow.” Mr. Sisko expertly emptied the pan into three plates, handing one to each of them. He ladled a little bit more into the plate he handed to Kira, but no one commented on it. “Go sit down out front, now. Won’t have any children of mine eating stood up in the kitchen. Ben, make sure that boy comes in for his piano shift at six, will you?” 

“Sure, Dad.”

“Here are some forks,” he added, sticking them into Jadzia’s romper pocket. “And if anyone asks, it wasn’t me who spoiled your dinner.” 

Jadzia grinned. “No sir.” 

He gave her a light tap on the back of her head with the butt of his spoon. “Get out of here, Jadzia,” he said, “’fore I decide to give that meal to paying customers.” 

 

-

 

Sisko’s was, as always, lively, maybe even more so because it was five-forty-five on a Friday. People of all types chatted and ate. There was a group of kids from their school on one side, a delegation from the nursing home two tables over, and a party of middle-aged women at the front, spilling gossip as easily as wine. Jadzia could even swear she spotted her bus driver from elementary school chatting up some woman at the bar. Sisko’s was a melting pot—you never knew what sorts you were gonna find. Jadzia thrived in it.

The three of them moved into the restaurant proper, gravitating towards the table that they typically claimed right at the back. Quark, a grumbling, sour-faced boy who worked weekends as a server, gave them the stink-eye as they settled down. 

“Quark _,_ ” Kira muttered. Her body curved protectively around her food. Her eyes told her friends, very clearly, that if she had to engage with him then it would end with his blood on the floor. “Not today, _gonif_.”

“Ah, Quark,” Ben smiled, his voice dangerously low. “How are you doing today?”

“As a matter of fact–”

Ben’s expression frosted over, though his lips remained upturned. “I’m glad to hear that. Would you go serve table six? I would hate the mayor’s niece to feel like she’s not being attended to properly.”

Quark’s lips drew together. “I–”

“I think she’s trying to catch your eye.”

“Seriously, Quark,” Jadzia put in. Her mouth twisted teasingly. “I hear all these mayor’s nieces _do_ hate to be kept waiting.” 

With a grumble and a parting glare at Kira, Quark headed over to the table Ben had pointed to. 

“Good riddance,” Kira snarled. Jadzia offered her one of the forks—she all but snatched it out of her hand. She began shoveling rice into her mouth, one arm still extended as a barrier around her meal. 

Watching Kira eat was always a sobering experience. Her hackles came up—all traces of humor left her face. She ate far too fast. Jadzia wasn’t sure how she avoided getting a stomach ache; it couldn’t have been healthy, eating so quickly. _Food insecurity_ , the special nutritionist had diagnosed. _She thinks someone will take it away from her._ _It may take time to fade._

The speed-eating was a relatively new development, though, and, according to the same nutritionist, a good one. In the first few months, Kira had eaten only tiny bites at a time, uncomprehending of the idea that food didn’t need to be stockpiled. She would slip extra slices of bread into her pockets, to be nibbled on throughout the day.

(Jadzia still remembered one of those early conversations. They’d been outside the cafeteria at school, at lunchtime. “Aren’t you going to come in?” Jadzia had asked.

“Why?” Kira had replied. Her voice had been almost easy-going. “I’ve already eaten today.”

“Eaten what?”

Kira had stiffened. “More than I used to,” she’d said.)

Apparently, the hearty consumption of food was good for her. While Kira was no longer in danger of starvation, malnourishment didn’t just disappear. She was shorter than she was supposed to be by a good five inches, and, above her well-toned abs, her ribs splayed out starkly against her skin. She’d been gaining some more weight, but it wasn’t a lot.

“Jadzia,” Ben said. 

Jadzia straightened, blinking. “Yep.”

“Zoned out there.”

“Yep.” 

“Doing your biochem homework in your head?” he asked. There was a knowing glint in his eye, and he glanced over to where Kira was plucking the tail off a fresh prawn. “Or…”

She kicked him. His grin grew, his suspicions confirmed.

“D’you remember Tommy Callaghan?” Ben asked, nonchalantly scooping up a bite of his jambalaya. “In sixth grade?” 

Jadzia pinked, though she tried to keep her expression even. He had been her first crush, and she had not been nearly so subtle as she was now. It had led to quite an eventful year. “I do,” she said. 

“Hm,” was all Ben hummed. For her best friend, he was absolutely insufferable.

Kira, having scraped her plate clean, was looking between them in confusion. “Who’s Tommy Callaghan?” 

“Nobody,” Ben said, at the same time as Jadzia groaned.

“He’s just some jerk from middle school.” She paused. “Quark reminds me of him.” 

Kira wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “How was the rice?”

“Do you have to ask?” 

Ben narrowed his eyes. “For the sake of my dad’s reputation, I’m gonna pretend that you answered with a ten-page paper on how good it was.” 

“I wouldn’t be able to write it.” 

“It would also be acceptable in Hebrew.”

“It’d be written,” she said, her eyebrow arching challengingly, “in a style that went out of date when Moses went up to Sinai.”

Ben’s face cracked into smiled. “Just give us five stars on Yelp.”

“Done.”

“Benjamin,” Jadzia interjected.

“It’s _Ben_ , Old Man—”

“ _Benjamin_ , I think that kid,” she pointed to where a nervous teenager was standing by the door, rolling and unrolling the cuff of his sleeve, “is the piano one your dad was talking about.”

“How can you tell?” Kira asked critically.

“I’m psychic.”

Ben squinted. “He’s got sheet music in his hand, doesn’t he.”

“Definitely.” 

“He looks fidgety,” Kira observed. She stole a shrimp from Jadzia’s plate. “Maybe he’s baked.”

Ben’s lips folded into a smile. “No,” he said, standing, “don’t think so.” 

“Why not?” 

“That boy wouldn’t know how to roll a joint if he were on a twelve-hour bus ride with Wiz Khalifa. I’m going to go help him find where the piano is.”

Jadzia smiled. “Good luck, Benjamin.” 

The two girls watched as he walked up to the nervous boy, introducing himself with an easy grin. The nervous boy nodded, extending a hand, his mouth moving quickly. They couldn’t hear what he said. At Ben’s apparent prompting, he turned and surveyed the room until his eyes fell upon the upright piano that sat next to the kitchen window. His mouth fell open in surprise.

“It’s in the middle of the room,” said Kira, incredulous. “He didn’t see it?”

Jadzia covered her mouth with her hand. “He didn’t see it.” 

“Wow.”

They watched as the boy moved towards the piano, nearly tripping over an entire table. There was the screech of chairs as the people sitting there tried to keep him upright, to the detriment of the saltshaker, which fell to the floor with a crack. He apologized profusely, his light brown skin darkening in a flush.

“ _Wow_.”

Jadzia giggled. 

Eventually, the boy did manage to make it to the piano. He set his sheet music down on the shelf and fiddled with his cuffs one last time. Ben appraised the song over his shoulder—it must have been acceptable, because he gave the boy a pat on the back. He squirmed. Ben apologized, or, at least, Jadzia hoped he did (with friends like Kira, he really should understand that some people didn’t like to be touched by strangers). There was a pause before the boy nodded, his mouth bouncing up and down in streams of words that Jadzia couldn’t make out, and then set his hands on the piano and began to play.

And boy, could he play. The music swelled through the room, gentle and upbeat. People turned to stare, their cheeks dimpling in soft smiles, and for a moment all the talking lulled. The boy at the piano, no longer babbling or clumsy, danced his fingers along chords as though he were coaxing song from a nightingale. Even the background clatter of the kitchen paused. Joseph Sisko leaned out the window, staring at his newest employee with a radiant grin.

Jadzia had always been atrocious at anything musical, but it didn’t take a trained ear to feel the talent that spun the notes through the air.

“He is _good_ ,” she said. “Really good.”

Kira’s face had gone all pinched. “Yeah,” she replied, her voice weird. “I guess.”

“What’s wrong?” 

She cleared her throat. “Nothing.”

The restaurant filled with chatter again, but the steady backdrop of music remained. Ben came back over, his grin matching his father’s.

“His name is Julian,” he said. He dropped down into his seat. “Doesn’t know how to shut up, but he’s a fucking genius.”

“He’s put you out of a job, Ben,” Jadzia replied, smiling back.

Ben let out an amused huff. “I don’t need it anymore. I’m better.”

 _I’m better_. Jadzia’s hand snaked out and grabbed his, squeezing. 

“You play piano?” Kira frowned. “I didn’t know that.”

“I used to play it more. Before you came. It’s nothing.” Ben smiled, for lack of something else to do. 

Jadzia cleared her throat. “I hear the Giants beat the Red Sox yesterday,” she said, switching topics.

“No,” Kira groaned, slumping. “No baseball.” 

“You love baseball.” 

“I hate baseball.”

“No, you love baseball.”

“Ben, not everybody loves baseball. Some of us think it’s _boring_.”

“Get out of my damn house.” 

“Children,” Jadzia admonished, doing a fairly decent impression of their Vice Principal, “we can accept _everyone,_ regardless of their enjoyment of baseball. Also, Nerys, if you really hated baseball, you wouldn’t go play it at the park every weekend with him.” 

Kira rolled her eyes. Ben smiled in satisfaction, crossing his arms over his chest. Jadzia looked from one to the other. _Idiots_ , she thought, and tried to stop her expression from seeming quite so fond.

An alarm went off on Kira’s phone, vibrating from where it sat in the pocket of her cargo shorts. She pulled it out, wincing. “Fuck,” she swore. “Fuck.”

“What?” Jadzia asked, alarmed.

“Ten minutes to sundown.” Kira’s knuckles were white around her phone case. 

“Go,” said Ben. “Quick. What’s your record for the house?” 

“Seven minutes.”

Kira moved to scrape her plate, but Jadzia shooed her off. “Go grab your books upstairs,” she insisted. “Hurry.”

Taking her advice, Kira hurried back to the kitchen. Her steps made a faint _one-two-one-two_ as she rushed up the stairs. Ben and Jadzia looked at each other, slightly exasperated yet amused. 

“She is going to beat her record,” Ben predicted, his voice deliberately slow. “She should really go out for track.”

“She’d miss soccer too much,” Jadzia countered. She laughed as Kira darted back through the kitchen, a scrawny mess of short-cropped hair and poorly zipped backpacks bobbing past the window. 

“Bye, Mr. Sisko,” they heard her yell.

The reply came quickly after, less urgently: “See you, kiddo!” 

She banged through the silver double doors back into the restaurant proper, her sneakers squeaking with traction as she expertly dodged through the tables. After Julian’s catastrophic entrance, Kira’s hurried exit hardly drew a stray glance. She sent Jadzia and Ben a wave as she threw herself out into the street. Jadzia’s eyes followed her long shadow as she sprinted down the block, cut off only when she disappeared from the view of the window.

“That girl,” Ben said, shaking his head.

“I hope she gets there in time,” Jadzia said. “Rabbi Opaka hates it when she’s late. _You_ wouldn’t want to disappoint a kindly grandmother like that, would you?” 

Ben winced in sympathy. “I wouldn’t,” he said, “but I can imagine it.” His hand came up and rubbed at the side of his face. “I think my cheek would be bruised for a month.”

Jadzia grinned. “She thinks you need to eat more.”

Casting his hands out to his surroundings, Ben raised his eyebrows. “I _don’t_ need to eat more.”

“Then you get the cheek pinch.” Quick as an imp, Jadzia reached out and squeezed an inch above his jawline, catching her fingertips on his stubble. She grinned. “Could be chubbier.”

Ben sent her a venomous look, but it crumbled in the face of her smile. He rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible to hate, you know that?” 

Jadzia inched her chair over and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Yes,” she agreed, settling her head into the crook of his neck. “I’m magnificent.”

“That you are, Old Man,” Ben smiled, his arm falling back around her. He let out a deep, contented breath. “That you are.”

Light smoothed across the tables in a gentle orange—bubbles of conversation blew through the room, popping gently with laughter every once in a while. Saucepans hissed from the kitchen, flooding the air with seafood and the rich oils of stew. The evening sighed. A warm breeze splashed down Jadzia’s arm as a new couple walked in, giggling to each other. Julian’s music danced over everyone’s heads, his chords running like streams through the low-hanging lights. Ben grinned, surveying his father’s restaurant with pride. He tapped his foot along to the tune.

A text pinged on Jadzia’s phone. _NEW RECORD_ , it read, _6.37._

Warmth brimmed in her chest, and she grinned.

 

 

 


	2. january - julian + elim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Garak the foreign exchange student

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? writing about men? for once it's more likely than you think. happy pride month, y'all.
> 
> to EverLurk—hope this was okay!

“You must be Julian!” the boy pronounced, leaning down much too close, bent at the waist, his hands behind his back. “Principal Picard did say you’d be here.”

Julian had, until that moment, been sitting on the office waiting chair with his headphones on, playing a game on his phone. After that moment, however, he was somewhere closer to careening towards the ground. He landed on his elbows, one ear of his headphones covering his eye like an eyepatch. The boy was _startling_ , alright? 

“Pardon me,” said the boy, looking like he didn’t much care if he was pardoned or not. “Can I help you up?”

“Um,” said Julian, blinking rapidly. “I—I suppose so. That would be, er, yes.”

The boy grabbed at Julian’s upper sleeve and tugged rather unhelpfully at his bicep. Julian was forced to push himself up, the boy’s palm riding his arm in some pitiful excuse for a favour. When Julian did sit back in the chair, the boy’s hand fell to the small of his back. Julian stiffened.

“I do apologize.” Now that Julian was upright and paying attention, he could hear the slant to the boy’s words. He wasn’t British, not like Julian, though his R’s floated past his teeth—no, there was a catch in his voice that spoke of a non-native English speaker, and the _h_ in his “help” had been slightly too harsh. “I wasn’t aware that you would be so…easily frightened.”

“I wasn’t frightened,” Julian postured, fighting back a blush. The boy’s fluffy waves of chestnut hair and blue eyes were unfortunately distracting.

The boy smiled, almost condescending. “Of course not.” 

“And, who—who are you?”

“I’m Elim Garak,” said the boy. “Year eleven. I am an exchange student from Germany. I’ve just arrived.”

“Germany?”

“Lovely little place, just across the water and right a bit from this other country you may have heard of. England?”

“I’m from England,” Julian replied, sounding dense even to his own ears. “Well, mostly.”

“Truly? I couldn’t tell.” Elim’s face split further into a grin. “Come now, Mr. Julian. My host is sick, so I’m beginning unaccompanied. The principal did say you should show me around.”

“He did?” Julian cleared his throat. “Oh, I guess that would explain…” _Why I got called to the office_ , he finished silently, but ducked his head instead. “I’m still new here myself, I’m certain someone else would be better—”

Elim smiled disarmingly, breezing past Julian’s objections. “No, no,” he said, “I think we’ll be alright. Now, could you show me where calculus with Ms. Lopez is?”

Julian stammered, “Er, yeah, I have that first, yes.” He stood. “Can I see your schedule?”

“Of course.” As Elim handed it over, Julian couldn’t help but notice the pristineness of his cuffs. What kind of high school boy wore an embroidered, long-sleeved dress shirt? 

The header of the page confirmed and summed up everything Julian knew about Elim. He was an eleventh grader from Germany, and did indeed have the last name _Garak_. His schedule was fairly simple, for a junior boy—calculus, and then AmLit, APES, American History, Spanish 3 Honours, and AP Psych. Julian was chagrined (and faintly pleased) to realize they shared three of his six classes.

“Let’s, er, go,” he said, handing back the paper. He swung his bag over his shoulder. “The class is across campus.”

Elim smirked. “By all means, lead the way.”

 

-

 

Elim, Julian came to learn, was the type of boy who used big words not because he thought they made him sound smarter, but because he knew he they made him sound pretentious and revelled in how that riled up others. Everything he said was said in a suggestive manner, as if he was only telling half the truth—he wrapped himself in uncertainty so provocative that it made Julian’s teeth hurt. There was something dangerous about him, too, something cold and hard and reptilian. He painted it over with charm that was almost _meant_ to be identified as a veneer—drapes of courtesy so sheer that they only half-hid the sharp intellect beneath.

But there was also a part of him that was truly personable, almost lonely, and Julian found it terrifying how quickly he was becoming friends with that part.

“Where do you eat lunch?” The voice was abrupt, unexpected; Julian had left Elim in American History, and had expected to need to go fetch him after he was done with Chemistry. But there the boy was, standing in the doorway of Julian’s classroom with a smug grin.

 _Clearly_ , Julian thought wryly, _my responsibilities as a tour guide were over-exaggerated._

It took him another second to register that Elim had asked a question. “I eat with Miles,” he answered. “Miles and his girlfriend, Keiko, and sometimes Miles’s friends Jadzia, Kira, and Ben.” 

Something like disappointment slipped across Elim’s face, but it was banished before Julian could try to pin it down. “Sounds excellent,” he said. “Shall we go?”

“Sure.” Julian bent down and gathered his things, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder. “Do you have lunch?”

“What kind of good German boy would I be if I didn’t bring some sausage to share with my new friends?”

The way his lips lingered on the word _sausage_ , the way he didn’t bother to hide the way his eyes ran the course of Julian’s body—well.

Julian turned and coughed, beet red.

Outside was grey and bitterly cold. Elim began to shiver the moment they stepped out into it, though he tried to hide it by wrapping his hands across his chest. Julian fumbled for a second, wondering what to do, until his brain reconnected. In a jerky motion, he pulled off his topmost layer—his puffy, knee-length coat—and handed it to Elim.

He moved to protest, his pride affronted, but Julian refused to take it back. Reluctantly, he wrapped it around his shoulders, rolling the sleeves up once. He didn’t say thank you, but Julian thought it was probably implied. Now coatless, he dug his hands into his science camp sweatshirt.

The two of them made their way to the corner of the courtyard where Miles was eating a sandwich, listening to Keiko talk about how she was keeping her potted plants safe from the morning ice. Julian didn’t care much for plants, but, then, Keiko didn’t care much for medicine or historical battles. Both, however, cared very much for Miles, so they learned to sit through the discussions for his sake. Besides—sometimes they actually learned something. 

Today, however, there were more interesting topics to explore.

Elim Garak, for example.

“Who’s this?” Miles asked after they had both sat down. He quirked his lips at the sight of Elim in his friend’s coat.

Julian introduced him, uncomfortably aware of how close the two of them were sitting, of how he could make out faint freckles underlining Elim’s blue eyes. The thought that Julian had been trying to suppress all morning bubbled back up, certain and frustrating—Elim was _cute_. 

At the sound of Elim’s name, Keiko’s eyebrows hiked in recognition. “Hey,” she said, smiling warmly. “You’re staying with Ezri, aren’t you?” 

Elim nodded, his answering smile saccharine-sweet. “Yes, she’s been very kind to me. Sick today, unfortunately.” 

“Ezri is Jadzia’s little cousin, right?” Miles asked Julian, his voice a mutter. Keiko elbowed him, and he squawked. “What’s that for? ‘S not my fault, Jadzia’s only mentioned her one time!”

“She came to their Halloween party,” she said, exasperated. “You met her.” She looked back at Elim with an apology in her eyes. “I hope your first day’s been alright.”

Elim shrugged, charmingly at-ease. “It’s a fine school, and everyone I’ve met so far has been _very_ welcoming.”

Before he and Keiko could be trapped further in a game of pleasantries, Ben, Kira, and Jadzia came over. Julian smiled up at them, glad their ability to intimidate him was months worn off. They were friends now. 

(Well, he was fairly sure the jury was still out on whether he was Kira’s friend. But Miles _was_ her friend, and he always came back with livid new bruises from playing football whenever they met up, so maybe Julian was okay with keeping his distance.)

Noticing Elim’s presence, the three newcomers arranged themselves carefully, with Kira, who was least trusting of strangers, settled towards the back. Jadzia seemed to recognize him, and smiled broadly.

“You must be Elim,” she said. “Ezri’s been talking about you.”

Elim bowed his head in greeting, but before he could respond he was cut off by Kira, blunt as always.

“Who’s he?”

“I’m an exchange student,” Elim explained. “Elim Garak, at your service.”

Kira tensed, her eyes suddenly sharp. Her hand, which had been reaching into her brown paper bag, settled into a protective fist around the opening instead, crumpling it. “You’re German,” she accused.

“I am,” Elim said, his forehead creasing. “Will that be an issue?”

Jadzia laid a hand on Kira’s arm. “He’s German-German, Kira. Not from around here.” 

The words seemed to have little effect. Julian frowned, unconsciously shifting closer to Elim. 

Kira’s glare made him feel a mixture of defensiveness, protectiveness, and confusion. Did she really have a vendetta against German people, or something? That seemed out of character. Normally, Kira was the first to jump up and start a shouting match—and on a few memorable occasions, a fistfight— _against_ discrimination, not for it. Though maybe it was different, given that Germans weren’t the victims of systematic oppression? But he would have thought that Germany’s comparable democratic socialism would have won them a few points?  Julian wasn’t sure. He was confident about a lot of things, but decoding Kira’s moral compass, even as forceful as it was, was not one of them.

“I do apologize if I’ve offended you,” Elim said, dipping his head slightly, though his tone was slightly sharp. “Though I don’t know what I could have done, other than have been born in a different country.” 

Kira bit her lip hard enough to make it white, her hand coming up to her neck to grab at her necklace. She took a breath and then tried to relax—Jadzia wrapped an arm around her, which seemed to do at least part of the trick. Julian cut nervous eyes between her and Elim, trying to read the situation, but his social skills had never been accurate enough for that. He half expected Kira to explode again, a dormant volcano set off by the slightest vibration. 

Instead, she said, “Elim is a place.”

Elim looked at her. “Is it?” he asked, though it didn’t sound like a question. 

“Israelites camped there after the exodus from Egypt.”

“A good story, to be sure—” Julian winced at the word _story_ , but Kira didn’t blink, “but I’m not Jewish,” said Elim. “My parents are Christian.”

“And you?”

Julian watched Elim as he contemplated Kira, his face edged in a way Julian hadn’t see all day. There was a long, nervous pause among the other members of the group. Finally, Elim shrugged. “Religion is the opiate of the masses,” he said. “Marx said that. I’m not sure if I believe him, but I believe religion is, overall, devastating. I tire of hearing about religious wars.”

Kira frowned at that, mulling it over. Her mouth turned downwards as if she’d tasted something bitter.

“Religion and politics, guys,” Jadzia intervened, finally. She grinned. “Two topics we should never start off with.”

The group let out a collective breath—Ben took the opportunity to ask Keiko about her little sister’s most recent softball game, and she jumped at the chance to answer. Smaller conversations rippled out, leaving Julian and Elim to face each other again. 

“Is she always so confrontational?” Elim asked.

Julian considered it. “Yes.” 

“Does she have a good reason for hating Germans?”

“I know you just inferred that she’s Jewish.”

“Does she have a good reason for hating modern-day Germans, then?”

Julian stared at Elim, tilting his head slightly. “I suppose you’d need to ask her.”

Elim quirked his brow. “Fair.” He relaxed, reverting to the somewhat-genial boy that Julian had been talking to all morning. Reaching for his bag, he pulled out a lunchbox. “She won’t mind if I have some pork sausages, will she?” 

Julian tapped his fingers against his knee, trying to remember. Jadzia saved him.

“She doesn’t keep Kosher,” she said, checking to make sure Kira was still locked in a lively conversation with Miles. “And she won’t care what you eat, as long as you don’t make an anti-Semitic joke about it.” 

“Why is the assumption that I would be anti-Semitic?” 

Jadzia looked him over. “Well, she doesn’t have any evidence that you’re not.”

“Guilty until proven innocent?”

“I still don’t think _I’ve_ been proven innocent,” Julian muttered, and Elim caught his eye with a smirk. 

“Hey,” Jadzia said, calling Julian out. “Don’t give her a hard time. We only met you a few months ago. It’s not your place to judge what she’s dealing with. And she has a rough past with Germans.”

Elim frowned. “Germans and her grandparents, or Germans and _her_?” 

Jadzia sent them a look that was half apologetic, half _butt out_. “It was good to properly meet you, Elim,” she said. It was clear the conversation was over. She turned back to Ben and Keiko, reintegrating herself with a crass joke that made Ben wince and Keiko laugh.

“I’m sorry about all that,” said Julian. “My friends can be…messy.”

Elim shrugged again, a graceful roll of his shoulders. “At least they’re not boring, Julian.”

The sound of his own name shouldn’t have made Julian’s heart pinch like that, should it?

“That,” he said with certainty, “they aren’t.”

 

-

 

Spanish crawled by, awash with conjunctions and magical realism. Julian kept looking over at Elim, but the teacher had him penned in at the front, where she was giving him an oral test to place his aptitude. Occasionally, they shared commiserating looks, but for most of class, it was just Julian vs. Borges.

Borges won.

AP Psych was much better, though. The two of them passed notes. Julian wanted to find out about Elim’s life more than he wanted to watch a documentary about sleep, but the boy was being unduly cagey. In return, Julian delighted in giving half-answers to Elim’s own questions. (It wasn’t exactly like he wanted to explain exactly why he wasn’t in England anymore, or where his family was originally from, or who he lived with, or…well, half-answers were a good solution.)

They began to engage in a battle of wits that only ended after their Psych teacher threatened to send them both into an actual deep sleep if they didn’t stop making noise.

“How long are you here for?” Julian asked after the final bell rang. It was a question he’d been considering all day, but had been dreading too much to find out the answer. 

“Me?” Elim smiled. He followed Julian out into the courtyard. “I’m here for the rest of the semester.”

Julian grinned. It was January—summer felt eons away. “What a coincidence, Mr. Garak,” he said, “so am I.” 

Elim’s eyes sparkled. Julian found his breath catching and looked away.

“Do you want to, er, go grab a snack?” he asked, the words tumbling out. “There’s a nice café on the corner, I go there in the mornings sometimes…”

“I’d love to,” Elim said, but in a tone that made Julian’s heart sink. “Unfortunately, I promised Ezri’s mother that I’d find my way home by three-thirty.” He paused. “Will you be there before class tomorrow?”

Julian’s stomach flipped. “Yeah,” he said. “Wait, let me text you the address.”

“I can program my number in.” Elim took Julian’s phone from his hands and made himself a new contact, then opened a new text conversation and passed it back. He swung his backpack higher on his shoulder. “Done.” He squeezed Julian’s shoulder. “It’s a date.”

With a lingering smirk, he left.

Julian watched his back as it receded, ultimately disappearing behind the science building. He spun his phone over in his hands, his brain partially frozen—“ _it’s a date_.” It’s a date. It’s a _date_. Was it that kind of date? Julian’s face nearly broke in half from the force of his smile. He didn’t care.

He had a date with Elim Garak, who had _absolutely_ still been wearing Julian’s coat as he walked away.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so late, guys! school was a total burn out. i was hoping to finish a kira/dax chapter for pride month too, just bc thats a bit more up my alley and i love my wlw, but that'll probably be a bit late. 
> 
> as always, if you have any prompts, send em my way!


	3. march - jadzia + kira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: jadzia with her academics + kira and dax being gay for each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 years passed and my brother and I discovered the new avatar, a word document named finally-fucking-finished
> 
> tw: food insecurity, school stress

The doorbell echoed inside the house. Nerys, standing on the doorstep, shifted from foot-to-foot.

For as long as she’d been friends with Jadzia, the girl’s neighborhood never failed to make her uneasy. The houses were painted perfectly, and the lawns trimmed neatly. Not a mailbox went unchecked. Generic kids played with generic toys on the corner, and generic parents watched with vague amusement from the front steps. Even the basketball hoops looked polished.

Jadzia’s yard was the only different one, mainly because her sister had gone through a massive native-plant gardening phase. Succulents peeked up at the corners of the steps, rounded and friendly-looking. A manzanita bush brushed up against the window, swaying gently. It was her favorite; Nerys loved its scarlet bark and the way the wood shone clean as you peeled it off. When the door swung open, she was still watching a small hummingbird descend to inspect the bush’s pink flowers.

“Kira!” said Jadzia’s father. “Come in, kiddo.”

She flinched, expecting to have been greeted by Jadzia’s mom or sister. Her dad wasn’t usually home before seven. But here he was, dressed in sweatpants and a Stanford tee, his glasses pushed up into his messy brown quiff of hair. His smile was kind, but slightly disarmed—Nerys had always gotten the impression that he didn’t quite know how to act around her, well-meaning though he was. 

“Thanks,” she mumbled. She followed him as he led her into the entryway, then toed off her shoes. “Is Jadzia home?”

“Been studying since eight this morning. Maybe you can tear her away,” he suggested. “She’s in her room.” He paused as they walked through the kitchen, stopping Kira in her tracks. “Do you want to bring up some snacks or something?”

“Um…” Nerys trailed off, but it didn’t seem to matter.

Mr. Dax was so tall he barely had to reach to grab some chips from the highest cupboard, and he quickly deposited the bag in her hands. “Here you go,” he said. “Dinner’s in half an hour, if you want to stay. It’s just pasta with red sauce. 

Pasta with red sauce.

Four people in the family, Nerys calculated, probably only one box of pasta. Split five ways was only about three-hundred calories each, plus whatever the sauce and sides added. She could make that stretch for maybe two days? Maybe shorter, now that her body was getting weaker and used to more food. But what if it wasn’t enough? What if Jadzia’s sister ate a larger helping than she was supposed to, and the gnawing hunger crept back into Nerys’s stomach? What if she went to bed without enough, and the dreams came back? What if she was walking home and her stomach panged and she fell and she couldn’t get up and one of Dukat’s kids found her and laughed and kicked her side and— 

“I gotta see,” she said. “Thanks.”

He nodded, running his fingers through his hair and nearly dislodging his glasses. “Have fun.”

Nerys made her way up the stairs, straining to hear any sign of movement that might have meant that Jadzia had moved on from studying. There was nothing. She wasn’t especially surprised. Jadzia’s texts that morning and earlier in the week had been stressed and curt enough to signal that it was going to be a Bad Day. 

“Hey,” she said, pushing the door open. She hovered in the doorway, out of place in the gentle blue room—she was too brash and sharp and rough for the geometric posters and soft blankets. “It’s me.”

Jadzia looked up from her desk, and Nerys’s chest tightened in instinctive concern. Dark semicircles carved under her eyes and her lips were dry and chapped. Her hair knotted poorly into an oily bun. Instead of one of her usual cute outfits, she was wearing a t-shirt from some marathon race in 1989, washed out and faintly stained.

Nerys’s head jerked away as she realized Jadzia also wasn’t wearing any pants.

“Nerys?” 

“Yeah?” She could feel her face coloring.

“What’re you doing here?”

Nerys coughed. “Me and Ben thought we should check on you. And, um, your dad gave me some chips to bring up.”

She could hear the tired smile in Jadzia’s voice. “I’m wearing pyjama shorts, Nerys.” 

“What?”

“I’m not naked. You can look at me.” 

“I wasn’t—” Nerys’s cheeks were hot. She turned back to Jadzia and tried to ignore her small smirk. “Did you eat today?” 

“Yeah, I did.”

“How much?” 

Jadzia shrugged, like it didn’t really matter. “A bit.”

“A bit’s not enough,” snapped Nerys, frustrated by her indifference. 

Jadzia frowned at the sharpness in her voice—Nerys knew she wasn’t used to being talked to like that. For a second, Nerys felt even more alienated from the soft lighting and soft blankets and intellectual kindness of Jadzia’s house. Then she shook her head. If Jadzia didn’t want to be talked to in that tone, well, then, _tough_. 

“I’m not hungry,” Jadzia protested.

Gathering her courage, Nerys strode into Jadzia’s room. She set the chips down on the desk with a sharp _clink_ , then threw her shoulders back and stared down at her friend. “You need to take care of yourself.” 

“Yeah?” Jadzia scoffed, quickly getting defensive and not a little offended. “I think I’d know how to do that better than you, Kira.”

“Oh, really? Then _eat_.” Nerys folded her arms. “Your studying can wait five minutes.” 

“If I don’t get this done, then I’m going to fail the test, then I’m going to—”

“Then you’re gonna be _fine_ ,” Nerys finished. “You know this shit. You got it. And if you don’t—it’s one test.”

Jadzia looked up, her eyes hard. “You don’t _get_ it. I need to—”

“Stop. You don’t need to be perfect. If it takes passing every single test for you to feel like you’re worth something, then whaddyou think of me?” Jadzia opened her mouth to argue, but Nerys didn’t let her finish. “You’re competitive, I get that. Hell, I _like_ that. But when you get like this…I get worried about you.” When she realized how personal that sounded, she rushed to add: “And so does Ben. Worried Ben is a pain in my ass.”

There was a pause, and then Jadzia slumped back into her chair. “Yeah,” she said, softer. “I’m sorry.”

“Eat, talk to me. Or else I’ll get Rabbi Opaka to come down and _she_ can feed you.” 

Jadzia, cowed by the threat, picked up a few chips and munched on them. Nerys took a few for herself, shoving down the impulse to cram the handful into her pocket. She moved to sit on the ground, with her back to Jadzia’s bed. 

“Nerys,” Jadzia said. “You don’t need to do that.”

“What?”

Jadzia stood and resettled on top of the bed, patting the covers beside her. “No floor-sitting in my house.”

“Is it rude or something?” 

Jadzia shook her head, a small smile peeking through her exhaustion. “The bed is just more comfortable.”

“Oh. Right.” Nerys moved up to sit next to her. Jadzia took the opportunity to lean her head on Nerys’s shoulder, letting out a small sigh. Nerys tried to stop the blush from flourishing on her cheeks, but it was probably a lost cause—at least Jadzia couldn’t see her, which was what mattered. 

(There was still the chance that she could feel how hard Nerys’s heart was pounding, but Nerys sent up a quick prayer to G-d that that wasn’t the case.) 

Aloud, she asked, “When was the last time you showered?” 

Jadzia repositioned herself self-consciously. “Um….”

“Go have a shower,” she suggested. “I’ll wait.”

“Do I stink that bad?”

Nerys shrugged. “Not really. Not by my standards.” 

“Your standards.”

“Yours are a bit higher, huh?” Nerys grinned. She leaned into Jadzia’s side, teasing. “See, that’s what happens when you grow up with a working shower. You get all _spoiled_ by using it.”

“Okay, okay,” Jadzia said, keeping her head in the crook of Nerys’s neck for a few seconds longer. “I’m getting up.”

“Moving fast, there.”

“Mhmm.” 

Eventually, Jadzia did push herself up, leaving Nerys to stretch back on the covers.  She grabbed a few clothes out of her dresser, heading towards the door.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Jadzia warned.

Nerys rolled her eyes. She considered Jadzia’s ceiling. 

About twenty minutes later, Jadzia strolled back in a bathrobe. Her skin shone, fresh and damp from the water, her freckles fading into the flush of her cheeks. Most of her dark hair twisted up in a towel. A few wet curls edged her temples and the nape of her neck. She moved calmly, fraught with none of the single-minded academic intensity of earlier. 

Nerys felt something hot sink deep in her stomach. She swallowed. “Better?” she asked.

Jadzia did her the favor of not commenting on the strangled way her question came out. But her mouth did tick up at one corner, her blue eyes sparkling, and Nerys thought that was maybe worse. “Oh, much,” she said. She crossed the room to flick through her closet, eventually settling on a maroon ringer tee and pair of washed out overalls. Undoing the belt of her robe, she glanced back at Nerys and smiled like a cat-who-ate-the-canary when she saw she was still watching.

Ears burning, Nerys jerked her head to stare at Jadzia’s bookshelf instead. She mouthed out the titles—she could finally read now, thank G-d—and tried to ignore the rustling of fabric.

It kind of worked. 

Sorta.

“Done,” said Jadzia, the bed beside Nerys dipping with weight as she rejoined her. She’d taken out her towel turban and had a lazy, low bun at the back of her neck. A stray finger brushed Nerys’s arm, and she felt a trail of electricity course through her. “Thank you,” Jadzia said quietly, “for worrying about me.”

“That was Ben,” Nerys tried to deflect. “Not me.”

Jadzia raised her eyebrows.

She squirmed. “It _was_ ,” she asserted. Then shame filled her up—why did she have to be such a dick?—and she dropped her gaze to the floor.

“Nerys?” Jadzia asked. Her voice was like water, rippling through the air. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I want to kiss you. Is that okay?” 

And Nerys’s eyes raised to Jadzia’s lips, freshly chapsticked after her shower. Heat flushed through her chest and something twinged further down. She suddenly wanted Jadzia—she wanted her, she wanted her, she wanted her. She breathed, “Yes.” 

Jadzia leaned in, caught her lip between hers. It was sweet and clumsy and how had they gone so long without doing this?

Nerys’s heart pounded in her ears and she tasted chapstick and toothpaste. She was breaking a rule, crossing an uncrossable line, freefalling; she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

Jadzia pulled back.

“Oh,” said Nerys. 

“Oh?” said Jadzia, smiling too. Her eyes danced.

Nerys nodded dumbly.

“Girls!” Jadzia’s father interrupted, yelling from downstairs. “Dinner’s on the table!”

They stared at each other. 

“We should probably go down there,” said Jadzia.

“Yeah,” said Nerys. 

They stared at each other some more.

“Girls!” It was Jadzia’s mother who called this time, newly home or maybe she’d been home all along. “Don’t let it get cold!” 

“Coming!” Jadzia yelled. She looked back at Nerys and laughed. “Fuck." 

When they got downstairs, Jadzia’s whole family waited for them at the table. Her mom and dad smiled—her sister scrolled through her phone. The girls slid into the empty chairs along the side. 

“You’re out of your pyjamas,” Jadzia’s mom congratulated. “And your hair’s brushed. Wow. Kira, you should come over more often.”

Nerys bit the inside of her cheek.

“Good job,” commended her dad. “And just so you know, we made some more pasta in case Rabbi Opaka wants any. It’s in the Tupperware on the counter over there.” 

“Everything’s kosher,” added her mom. 

They’d made extra. Nerys felt something inside her relax—Rabbi Opaka would have eaten already by now. No matter how much the rest of Jadzia’s family ate, she wouldn’t go hungry.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

While Jadzia’s dad ladled out the helpings for everyone, Jadzia’s mother sat forward. “So, do you girls have any plans for the rest of the night?” 

Jadzia looked right at Nerys. “Maybe,” she said, drawing the world out.

Nerys gave her a vicious kick under the table, embarrassed.

Jadzia grinned. “Yeah, we can definitely think of something.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this good? is this bad? who knows! not me! thanks for reading it anyway tho lol hopefully more to come

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, so I'm only going to continue this if there's enough interest. If you liked it, why not give me a prompt? It can be any exploration of this verse, of any character. I'd love to write it! Also, though, I am a Suffering Student(TM), so updates probably won't be extraordinarily fast in coming.
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ohfucktherewashomework!


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